


nothing left inside

by ilija



Category: Bleach
Genre: Adultery, Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilija/pseuds/ilija
Summary: Something is wrong today; it's something in the air. It has her fingers too warm and itching for Sode no Shirayuki’s cold weight at her hip.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Don't read this if you like Orihime or Renji.

There’s a hole in the hem running up the side of Rukia’s dress. Somehow she doesn’t notice it until Renji points it out--it’s so big she can fit three of her fingers into it and wiggle them.

It’s okay for now though. It’s on her right side and Ichigo is seated on her left.

Renji had told her about it when his hand had brushed her side as she kissed him goodbye and he laughed as she did, poking her through the hole with his finger. The cold makes her squeak and she kicks him in the shin on reflex.

Ichigo had been quiet since then, absorbed in the television. Rukia feels a bit bad for him; normally Chad kept them company as well when they got together, but he’s up north, competing in so and so competition at such and such city. There’s so many of them; Rukia has lived through too many awkward long train rides with Ichika in her lap and Ichigo’s back to her the whole time.

Does he have to be so big? Rukia noticed his width in _general_ is practically twice hers; she’s edged away an awkward distance just so she won’t touch him.

(And so what if she does though?)

The thought crawls up her spine, cold and dangerous.

“Ichigo,” Rukia blurts without thinking. Ichigo answers without looking.

“Yeah?”

(Never her name.)

“Do you want anything while I’m up?” Weak, but it works--Ichigo actually smiles when he shakes his head,

“Nah, go ahead.” Relieved but not quite letting down her guard, Rukia stands and retreats to the kitchen. Once out of earshot she leans against the fridge and releases the breath that she had been holding.

Something is wrong today; she’s hypervigilant, even. It’s something in the air. It has her fingers too warm and itching for Sode no Shirayuki’s cold weight at her hip. Out of habit, her fingers brush over where her zanpakuto normally hung from her side.

She doesn’t hear Ichigo pad into the kitchen behind her until she shuts off the water, filling her glass. “Oh,” her eyebrows lift whenever she sees him leaning back against the counter, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. “I asked if you wanted anything, change your mind?” There’s zero malice there, a tease, a gentle reminder of their days as the shinigami and substitute of Karakura.

He doesn’t look at her, still staring at his feet. Rukia can’t see his eyes. Something about that disturbs her in a way that’s both familiar and not. After a moment of silence Rukia bites her lip in thought and fills him a glass too, walking over and placing it on the counter beside him. “Here,” she gestures to the counter and sidesteps him leave, “the commercial break is almost over. I’ll meet you there.”

Something snags on her dress. A heavy sigh forms in her throat, her eyes rolling because she really likes this dress, and she looks down to uncatch the fabric.

Instead her breath catches when she sees two of Ichigo’s fingers dipped under the hole in the side of her dress, pinching the fabric tightly using his thumb. Habitual irritation wells up in her chest. “Ichigo,” she starts, “let me go.”

Ichigo doesn’t answer, looking more and more hangdog by the second. It both bugs and worries Rukia. Her water glass trembles in her hold. “I’m going to miss the show.

“You didn’t jump like that when Renji touched you.”

She jumps again at his words.

“Renji,” she starts, careful, “is my husband. Why would I jump when he touches me?”

Ichigo’s fingers slip further under the fabric, long fingers curling and holding. On instinct Rukia’s hand flutters to where Sode normally sits but instead bumps into Ichigo’s arm. Like a starting shot firing, the temperature seems to drop to gravely cold when Rukia looks up to meet yellow irises and black sclera and flared nostrils.

The drink, the whole fake reason Rukia even made this stupid decision, falls to the floor with a splash and shatter, a skitter of ice that Rukia almost trips over when she’s shoved into the fridge, her dress ripping along the side and a large wall of hot hot heat trapping her from the front. “Ichigo--”

It’s not Ichigo in front of her, holding her by one wrist and her now bare waist as he presses her against the cold fridge and himself against her. “He’s busy right now,” the hollow hisses, “I’m giving him a minute to recover from what you just said.”

“Recover?” Rukia snaps and wriggles against the pressure on both sides of her. Instead she feels the hard shape of Ichigo’s arousal digging into her hip and he leans his head back and sighs with a smirk plastered on his face. “I’ve said nothing but the truth. Renji is my husb--” The dress tears further, now split a good third of the way down; he can see her underwear, and underneath the thin fabric the soft skin of her hip shows. “What do you think you’re _doing_?!” She struggles again and Ichigo just laughs.

“You and I are gonna have a long overdue discussion, princess.” That smarts; Rukia winces and averts her eyes. “That’s a new development by the way. I used to call you Queen, until you left the King high and dry.” Ichigo bends to drag his tongue and the edge of his teeth down the gentle slope of Rukia’s shoulder. “Some Queen, getting married to a dog.”

“How dare you--”

Ichigo grabs her face by the jaw with one big hand and forces her to look at him straight on into his sharpening pupils, her ability to speak taken momentarily. “I got a lot to say to you about this past decade, mind giving me _five seconds?_ ” The demand is so harsh and unforgiving, such a contrast to the tone Ichigo normally takes ( _and took_ ) with her that she falls silent and submissive under his vastly stronger touch. Pleased, he kisses her on the bridge of her nose. “Good girl.”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” Rukia’s voice is soft but it pushes back; Ichigo throbs against her hip.

Pleased, he works his whole hand into the tear in her dress. His palm spans the whole width of her ribs and something dangerous drips down her spine, warm and threatening. If she hadn’t been pressed against the fridge her trembling ankles would have her on the floor.

“Alright, I won’t. So let’s talk like adults. Let’s talk about the last ten years.” Her jaw is still in his hand so she averts her eyes. He follows until he’s back in her vision; she’s surrounded on all sides.

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Ichigo barks laughter far too close to her ear.

“Nothing for you to discuss. My old friend Ichigo, though, you should hear what he has to say about you.” His tone is positively lecherous and he leans forward to nose under her jaw, behind her ear, his lips occassionally making contact with her skin and she jolts at the slightest touch. “For example, right here.” He mouths against her neck. “When you tie your hair up and he can see this, it drives him nuts. Too bad he’s too much of a baby to do anything about it.” Rukia’s jaw is freed only for Ichigo to tangle his fingers in her hair and tug, baring her neck and shoulder so he can _bite_. Rukia’s answering moan is strangled and Ichigo’s laugh is more breath and groan than actual glee. “Oh man, we’re both goin’ crazy. Ten years of listening to his shit,” he drags his lips down to her shoulder and kisses the dip of her collarbone, “and I get first dibs.”

“Don’t you dare talk about me like that.”

Ichigo frowns, raising an eyebrow at her harsh words and flushed face. “Don’t enjoy that? We can move on. I’m just getting started.”

“You--”

“The King thinks he’d be good with words. Me, personally,” he tightens his grip on Rukia’s hair, hooking fingers on the ripped seam of her dress, “I think it’d be better if he took action.”

Suddenly Rukia’s world is upside down, spinning. She’s cold and the floor is under her and Ichigo is over here and how did she get here? Her dress is ruined, torn from armpit to thigh and Ichigo is everywhere, hands trailing up her sides to her breasts and his mouth hot and damp against her ear.

“I can speak better than him anyway. Five minutes with you and you’re already underneath me.” Before she can knee him off Ichigo grabs her by the thigh and hoists it up to drape over his hip, settling nicely between her legs. “You have one chance to end this, princess. When will you take it?”

Rukia’s mind blanks on her response. She’s given Ichigo hell before for less, so when will she?

“A better question,” Ichigo offers during her pause, “ _will_ you take it?”

(She won’t. In fact, she’ll give it.)

Small hands reach to touch Ichigo’s shoulders, broad and overshadowing Rukia and she lifts her other leg to wrap around his waist. He practically purrs satisfaction, a deep rumble against her cheek when he kisses it. Again, he praises her, “Good girl.”

This time his sentence trails off in a hiss when Rukia bites the hard muscle of his shoulder, sinking in sharp white until his skin turns red against her teeth. The hiss sounds like a slice of air but then he lets out a shuddery laugh, lowering himself more until the hard shape of his cock presses against her, heavy and hot underneath his jeans. She bites a little harder to hold back her moan.

“I said,” she gasps when she pulls away, leaving a wet and reddening imprint behind, “not to treat me like a child.”

Sparing no time Ichigo starts a trail of heavy kisses down her neck, pulling her dress to the side to make his way down her body, his tongue darting out to taste her, the space between her breasts, dipping into her navel and when he lifts so does the pressure and she can finally _breathe._

“Ichigo--”

“I like these,” he takes the elastic of her panties between his teeth, letting them go with a snap against her stomach. Her involuntary shudder isn’t missed. “I think I’ll keep ‘em.”

“You wouldn’t.” Ichigo quirks an eyebrow, his stare unwavering as he pulls her underwear down long legs, so long it feels like an age and a half. Once they’re off, kicked free by Rukia, Ichigo wraps the thin fabric around his hand, the obviously damp spot making Rukia avert her eyes and she can’t help but clench her fists against the cold tile against the shiver that comes when Ichigo holds it to his face and inhales.

“Better, much better,” he murmurs and shoves the wrinkled material into his back pocket. His hands creep up her thighs until they’re shoving her dress up around her waist, right under her breasts. “So cute, too. Dainty little princess,” he teases, one canine glinting in his smirk. He holds her by the hips, large hands almost totally enveloping the circumference. “I dunno why people call her Orihime when the princess is right here.”

At the drop of her name Rukia’s blood runs ice cold. “Ichigo, don’t.”

“Why not?” he leans down to kiss above the thatch of hair between her legs. “I still have a lot to talk about.”

“Don’t talk about her.”

Ichigo frowns against her. “Who, Orihime?”

Rukia _writhes_ when he dips his tongue out to taste her. “Don’t say her name while we’re doing this.”

“Why? It’s not like Ichigo doesn’t do the same thing with you. Desperate king, you should hear him,” Ichigo brings his hand down to spread her open, thumb and finger baring her pussy so he can drag the flat of his tongue against the length of it, up and over to her stomach. “Lately he’s been telling her that he’s not _in the mood,_  but a few hours later,” he thumbs at her clit leisurely, as if recounting a pleasant outing, “he doesn’t have a problem calling his right hand ‘Rukia’.” His teeth are so sharp; Rukia recoils when he sinks his teeth into her hip. Everything they do is going to bruise, a small story of what happened, easily explained away by adhesive bandages or a high collar. “Rukia, Rukia, Rukia. Sometimes he even cries.”

“Please,” Rukia pleads, quiet.

“That’s more like it,” Ichigo soothes with a final swipe of his tongue up her labia. “Say it again, this time for _him."_

“Please, Ichigo,” her voice is even softer, if possible, almost lost among her breath. A look of bliss crosses over Ichigo’s face that makes him look like _Ichigo_ for a good few seconds; her heart jumps, peachy blush spreading down her face to her chest.

Then his eyes open and his pupils have almost enveloped his iris. Before she can process the weight of the look he’s levying against her, he’s pulling her higher into his lap, undoing his fly with fingers almost angry in their desperation. The denim hurts the over sensitized skin of her thighs but soon enough it’s out of the way, his jeans and underwear tucked underneath his cock. A bit too far gone, Rukia arches away from the cold tile and against Ichigo. His laugh is distant, gaze fixed on where he’s sliding against her, and the cry Rukia releases as he starts his slick slide into her has everything to do with his death grip on her hips and nothing to do with the tumultuous mix of relief, pleasure, and fear coursing through her veins.

(She tells herself that later when she hides away the dress.)

“Ah, _yes_ ,” Ichigo’s words drip from his mouth like poison, “This is… _so_ much better than she is.” Rukia clenches around him at the mention of Orihime; this time, he _cackles._

“God, yeah, he’d fucking love this. Hey,” he grips her ass and pulls her down the full length of his cock until she’s gasping and clawing at the tiles, “feel this?” He pulls his hips back, a dip that has the muscles of his abdomen flexing, before pistoning forward too fast and Rukia raises a hand to bite into the web between her thumb and forefinger. Ominous, reminiscent of war wounds and rain, Ichigo leans over her like a dark cloud and states, “Orihime _really_ likes that.”

Rukia’s eyes shoot open (when had she closed them?) and her heart rate jumps, scared rabbit fast, and she _trembles_ against him. “Ichigo--”

“But she’s no fun,” Ichigo still fucks her, slower this time, but continues his lecherous musing, “It’s so easy to get it over with, she’s in _love_ with him. Still the same as she was ten years ago, but with bigger tits.” He releases her ass and instead straightens up, still rolling his hips as he cups her breasts. “Good thing he likes small ones.”

“Shut _up_ \-- _oh_ ,” Rukia tries to spit but instead she arches into his touch, the fire in her words drowned in her moan.

“Oh man, this is just-- _too_ good,” he says between pants, his pace on an uphill climb as Rukia continues trying to bite back her voice with failing avail, “You two just-- don’t even compare.” His laugh is grating; Rukia wishes her arms would work so she could cover her ears blocking out his taunts and jeers.

“She does this annoying thing whenever Ichigo fucks her too hard--”

“ _Enough_ \--”

“You should hear it, she sounds like she’s _dying_ \--"

“Shut _up_ ,” Rukia sobs, twisting blindly in the torrent of arousal overtaking her. Even when she rolls limp onto her side Ichigo just readjusts his hold, never faltering  “Stop talking, _shut up_ \--”

“You sound so pretty when you beg for him, but she’s awful, it hurts my head every time and I, _ah,_ had to deal with that for. Ten. Years.” His last words are punctuated by well angled thrusts inside of Rukia, fascinated by the wet sounds of their fucking; she’s practically dripping onto the kitchen floor. “You’re _so_ wet,” he voices. “He’s missin’ out. He’ll never be able to fuck Orihime again after this.”

“You--”

“I don’t see how he could, she makes the most annoying noises,” Ichigo looks positively wild with glee, eyeing Rukia like a man stark raving mad if not for the wild blush on his cheeks and sweat on his brow. There’s a childish glee in his voice when he practically shakes her by the hips, pitching his tone to an obnoxious falsetto, “Sometimes he’ll try it rougher--like _this--_ until she goes ah, Ichigo, more, ahh!”

His insistent tugging on her waist has her arching forward to meet his thrusts, words lost as she moans in response, tone weaker than his crazed one, “Oh-- Ichigo, _uh_ \--!”

“Oh _Ichigo--_ yeah, like that, gimme some more-- _”_ His tone is mocking, hateful.

“More--” Rukia can’t catch her breath.

“More more more! For her at least, nothing for the king!” Ichigo throws his head back and laughs at himself, driving deeper into Rukia until their skin slaps together with obscene noises and Rukia is scrabbling for purchase, quite literally being fucking sideways. “But not you, you’re one of a _kind_ . You _give_. And now I get to finally do this.” With one hand Ichigo reaches down and presses the pads of his fingers against her clit, rubbing in tight circles until Rukia’s legs tense and tremble. “Poor Rukia, you’re shaking, how does it feel?”

“Quit talking--”

“Tell me more, sweetheart,” he croons with all the charm of a viper.

“I d-don’t want to hear it from the likes of _you!_ ” The hollow is offended and transmits that through the fast pace he sets, having to lean back and hold Rukia by the waist as a counterbalance as he fucks up and into her.

“You’ll come back,” Ichigo pants, words tinged with disgust at her implication. “You’ll feel so empty after this, not even that cocksucker Renji will be able to fill it with his--”

“Quit talking about him!” Rukia cries, voice wobbly as she toes the edge of her climax. Ichigo has timed his ministrations with the thrust and slide of his cock into a constant wave of pleasure pulsing through her body, clenching around Ichigo until it hurts.

“You’re too far gone to protest, princess, I’m calling the shots now,” Ichigo snipes heatedly. “Ichigo’s fantasies are a lot nicer than mine. He wanted to take you to your bed and take his sweet time. I’ve waited a decade for mine, and I’m taking it.”

“You-- I’m not--”

“You are, you’re gonna cum all over me and the floor more than you ever will in your life and it’s going to be--”

“I--” Her eyes roll back and her muscles pull taught with the oncoming threat of orgasm, so strong her arch has her twisting in Ichigo’s grasp.

“--because of me--”

“I’m going to--”

“Cum for us, princess, it’s what we _all_ want here.”

“I’m c-- _ah!_ ” Rukia can’t even finish her sentence before she’s scrabbling for purchase using Ichigo’s shirt, her shoulders arched painfully against the floor. She can barely even make noise, gasping around the full body tremors that wrack her spine, her legs, until she’s limp against Ichigo, his length still inside of her. The inside of her thighs are soaked; Ichigo’s jeans are dark, spattered and wet from her orgasm.

“Holy shit, so tight,” Ichigo mutters to himself, “I’m already gonna cum.” It only takes a few more thrusts before Ichigo pulls out with a groan and grasps his dick around the base, holding it and directing it over Rukia’s stomach as it pulses and drips. His thighs are shaking from exertion, the kitchen floor marking grooves into his sore knees, but he maintains his stance until he’s emptied himself completely onto Rukia.

They’re silent for painful moment, catching their breath. Rukia gathers herself enough to prop up on her elbows and investigate the damage, the semen running down her stomach, the small puddle of her own release underneath her. Ichigo just looks down between them, silent for the first time since their tryst. Sitting back on his heels again he releases his grip on her hips and lets her scoot, giving Rukia room to breathe, almost reluctant in letting her go.

“You would’ve been such a great queen,” he starts, “fit to rule the king’s heart.” Rukia pulls up her dress with shaking hands. “It’s more like a mausoleum than a palace now. Empty, ‘cept for him.”

His voice, edged with razor and sandpaper, softens to a level that she didn’t think he was capable of doing. It just makes her heart hurt even more.

“Always thinkin’ of you and that empty throne.” Ichigo shakes his head and buttons his pants, slow, prolonging the inevitable change to their manufactured normalcy. “Come back to us, Rukia.”

Clutching her dress in a last ditch effort at modesty she finally looks at Ichigo, the light in his eyes returning as the yellow and black retreats, fading again into soft brown, rimmed with gold, the sharp angle of his eyes softening once more with the weight of his _life_. Like a magnet she slides closer to him until she’s on her knees too, the only height where she can cradle Ichigo’s head between small hands, tilting it up by the jaw, so she can kiss him for the first time in a decade.

“I can’t.” The inhale Ichigo takes in pains her just as much. “I can’t. I have… so many things here. But,” she pauses to swallow down the emotions she’d long since locked away. “I also have you. And him. From the very beginning, I’ve never lost you.” She buries her face in his hair, her eyes screwed shut and her lips brush against his hairline when she finishes, “The man in my heart, Ichigo.”

This time he kisses her, as soft as spring sunlight; she had almost forgotten how the soft lurch deep within her chest felt.

* 

Ichika returns loudly, calling for Rukia and waving a toy wrapped in cellophane. “Mommy, mommy! Daddy got me a surprise!”

“Daddy’s girl,” she teases, “is it a surprise if you already knew about it?”

“I got it from a crane game!” She beams. “How come we don’t have crane games at home?”

Rukia ruffles her hair fondly. “Nobody seems to like them enough to bring them, I guess.”

“Okay,” Ichika settles on that with a sagely six year old nod. Then she tugs on the hem of Rukia’s clothing. “Hey, you changed clothes!”

“I know, can you believe it?” Rukia scoffs, putting her hands on her hips and sticking out her lower lip in the direction of the living room. “Your uncle Ichigo thinks he’s so funny, throwing water at me. Well, guess who won _that_ battle?”

“You did!” Ichika cheers, tiny fists pumping in the air and Rukia can’t help but giggle when she sweeps Ichika into her arms.

“I did! And he had to change his whole jeans.” Now Ichika has to muffle her own snickering behind her hands. “But uncle Ichigo is a big baby and doesn’t like to lose, so let’s keep it between us, okay?” She winks and holds out a pinky, which Ichika gladly hooks her own around and swears her eternal secrecy.

  
(Let’s keep this between us, okay Ichigo?)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry Henry Rollins.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed, I had a bit too much fun writing this. Self beta'd as always.


End file.
